Dreams

She was coy
“Oh yeah, what was it about?”
Neil ran his fingers through his hair and peered over his plate
“Neeehhh, I’d rather not talk about it.”
“What, was it a nightmare?”
Still pulling at his damaged hair he looked up now
“No, I just…don’t want to talk about it”
She dropped her arms forward towards him
“Well come on tell me; why don’t you want to tell me?”
“Because”
Neil had reverted to his five-year old self
“Because, why?”
and Siobhan was now the mother
“Because I don’t think you’d understand it.” He stabbed his french toast with the fork.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” She asked maternally.
“I mean you’d understand what was happening in a literal sense probably, but you’d never understand the deeper meaning to it?”
Siobhan sighed a bit and gazed around the room quickly
“So, I don’t understand it, so what?”
Neil dropped his head again and spoke to his plate.
“Well, you’d have a false understanding”
“And…” Her expression froze as she awaited a response.
“And you would form an opinion in your head, and you would catalog another little fact about me in your head that went ‘Neil had this dream, and it meant this, and that means this’ but it would all be wrong.”
She shook her head quickly, her face in disbelief
“No, I won’t. What is your problem this morning?”
Neil drug the corpse of the french toast across his plate. His black coffee steamed.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Yes, something is wrong.” Her head moved with her words.
Neil raised his eyebrows while still looking down. He lifted his shoulders and opened his mouth. He was ready to say something in response, but nothing came. This morning, nothing came.
“Fine, I gotta go.”
Siobhan’s scarf furled around as she left. Neil stared down at the plate, and over at the coffee. If she didn’t understand what he said and why he said it, how was she ever to understand his dream? Neil laughed a bit at the irony of it all. Maybe it was just a bad morning, or maybe every other morning Neil had woken up with no recollection of his dreams.

Scribble 1

I could live with the moonlight
and pleasant rivers
made of noise
wrapped up in
streaks of fire
that waver with the water
moving closer to the waterfront
thinking of twenty years ago

The Source

And so it begins:
The slow growing apart.
You leave me for someone else
leaving me with myself.
But I will not go the ways
of ancient minds forlorn and dark;
I will cozy up with a pen, a wrench, a guitar,
and I will leave my mark.

Nemo 2

     King stepped into the small space. He drew the curtain, cutting the space in two. He stretched his shirt up and off of himself, and rolled his pants down. He lifted his feet out of the rolled denim, and peeled off his last bit of clothing. He hung the underwear and the rest of his clothing from the rail above him where the curtain was attached. Standing naked, he felt the walls hugging him. He felt the quick touches of the ceramic as he turned and adjusted the curtain. Everywhere, everything was closing in.
     King backed away from the water stream. It would always be cold at first. Try as he might, little specks of icy water stung him. The ceramic tile continued to poke him, and the cold wet curtain would wrap its arms around his thigh. Everyone wanted something from him. He waited till steam sprouted from the ground, and he slowly moved under the water. There it was. He closed his eyes and found it immediately. He only found it when he was like this. The curtain had to be closed and the water had to be hot. There had to be quiet.
     He pushed his ears under the streams and the water ran into his ears. It found it’s way to his eardrum, and ran over smoothly. He heard the gentle gurgling and nothing else. As he breathed in, the steam cleared his nose. He took deep breaths, and felt the dirt and grime seep out of him. He couldn’t see it, but he knew that little trails of black soot were running down from his nose. He lifted his face so the water cleared away all the black. He felt around for the knob, and turned up the heat. The hot water felt like a warm coat. He wrapped up his arms, and rubbed his hands against his flesh.
     King had found it. His eyes were closed, but he saw more with them closed than he would ever see with them open. He saw himself standing in the rain in the center of a city square. He had on an overcoat and a black hat. He saw himself holding onto his hat as he walked over to a bench. There was another man on the bench, a bulky man in a lighter colored coat. His face was worn and eroded as if the storm had been whittling away at his face his whole life. King saw himself sitting down next to the man but neither of them spoke. They just looked out on the rain. The wind blew their coats in the same direction. The rain bounced off of their faces, but neither said a word to each other. For a while, they both sat in silence, then the large man turned to King and pointed straight ahead.
     A few hundred meters away stood a woman. She was dressed in soaked white cloth. Her hair was black and strewn across her face. King focused. She opened her mouth and began to sing. Her voice was like water. It ran all through his head and over his eardrums. She was singing for him. She wanted him to hear something. The sound grew and grew. His ears began to pulse with the slow frequency of her voice. The bench and the man and the rain all drew back out of the scene. Soon the woman herself disappeared and King was left with just the noise.
     He opened his eyes and immediately noticed a voice. There was someone near him singing. It was a woman’s voice, and it carried throughout the compartments. She was most likely next to him. King drew back the curtain and walked down the hall to the compartment next to him. He saw water falling onto feet. The woman continued to sing, and King brought up his hand to pull back the curtain. He paused for a moment, then drew back his hand. He wouldn’t do it.

Stopclock

The night before
an hour long death:
I am counting down the minutes
and any second now
it’ll hit me.
I will soak in these moments
till the cloudy waters of idleness
prune my skin.
And my flesh will fall off
as I try to hold on to this instant.